


Something Better

by writeao3write



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Prince Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Chef Hunk (Voltron), Drunk Keith (Voltron), Enemies to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Knight Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Original Character(s), Pidge is an inventor, Princess Allura (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeao3write/pseuds/writeao3write
Summary: Allura is an angel princess. Hunk is a brilliant chef. Shiro is the best knight in Altea. Pidge is a medieval Thomas Edison.Keith is a lethal Galran peasant with strong affinities for wine, fights, and boys. And Lance is a naive prince confused about pretty much everything.Wish me luck.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	1. In Search of Fun

It had been too long since Lance had gone into the city. Today he would do it. 

His servants would dress him and he would wait, standing quietly, thanking them when they were done, and the moment they left he would take his clothes off—those exquisite imported silks that he knew cost more than a life’s income for most citizens—and dress in the commoners clothes he kept hidden in his room. He would sneak out through the secret tunnel, the location of which Coran had drunkenly divulged to him long ago.

That is just what Lance did.

His servants finished their task. He thanked them. They left. He doffed his beautiful finery and donned the squalid garb of the commonfolk. 

He strained to pry up the stone tile that covered the tunnel’s entrance. The tile was quite large and he was quite slim, so he did not slide it very far. He climbed down through the opening and slid the tile back into place with considerable effort. 

Why did his room have to be in one of the tallest towers of the castle?

Making his way down steep stairs and through short-ceilinged tunnels, he began to sweat. He hoped his efforts would be rewarded soon. It had been months since he did this, and he had forgotten just how long this trip took.

Lance often wondered how many people knew of the network of tunnels beneath the city. The tunnel entrances were hidden so well, he reasoned, the number could not be very high. 

Though Lance had yet to encounter another person in a tunnel, he could never quite force himself to walk without fear on these little adventures. Looming always in the back of his mind was the terrifying question What if someone recognizes me?

That is not to say he was one for letting fear stop him. In fact, Coran routinely chastised him for being an impetuous mischief-maker. Still, he was not foolish. Impulsive maybe, instigative definitely, but not stupid. He had never, for instance, ventured out of the immediate vicinity of the castle on his own. Even on his secret excursions he kept to the safer neighborhoods, messing about with the sons and daughters of generals and merchants.

Today, however, he wanted to go somewhere more interesting. 

It was a game to him. He felt like he had mastered the early stages and was now prepared for a higher level of difficulty.

He would go to Galra. Regarded as the most dangerous neighborhood in the city, Galra was brimming with ruffians, thieves, and swindlers. He would have to be very careful.

So ignorant was he, though, of that part of the city, he did not know precisely how to get to his destination. He knew generally that Galra was in the southeastern part of the city, situated on the water. 

This was another reason to be excited. Lance had always loved the water—its sights and sounds and smells. How those heathens could defame such a glorious area with greed and gore, he did not know. But he was determined to find out.

Lance had been at it for nearly an hour, unsure of exactly where he was. He did not like to bring a torch with him into the tunnels—torches were heavy, and he enjoyed walking in the dark, slow though it was. 

At last he saw a light. It was very slight at first, just a white dot in the darkness, but it grew larger with every step. 

He began to run as impatience overtook him. Soon he heard water splashing and felt it climb up his clothes. There was a long, narrow puddle at his feet. He heard the crashing waves and smelled the sea before he saw it. 

He slowed to a walk as he came to the tunnel’s end. There was sand and sea and dark stone above and around him.

This was a cove.

There did not seem to be anyone around. He felt like a lone man on a deserted island. This was not where he meant to go.

So much for his Galran adventure. 

Well, since he had walked all the way down here, it seemed a shame not to enjoy this secluded bit of beach while he could. 

He threw off his clothes to go for a swim.

His breeches had just come off when he heard someone humming a melody. There was not even enough time to snatch his clothes from the sand before he was met by a stranger. A very small stranger. 

So androgynous was the stranger in face and frame, that Lance could not tell whether this was a boy or girl. The stranger was dressed like a man, but that meant little.

“What are you doing here?” The stranger's voice was equally androgynous.

The stranger seemed apprehensive. Lance wanted to be charming. The first thought he usually had when trying to charm was Be like Allura.

“Forgive me, good...citizen. I...” for the briefest and craziest of moments, Lance was about to introduce himself properly, “...thought I was alone.”

“It’s all right,” said the stranger. “You've got nothing I haven't seen before. My brother hated wearing clothes until he was about thirteen. It was like he was allergic to linen.”

Lance laughed. This little person was amusing. Lance immediately pictured the stranger in jester’s garb. That mental image made him uneasy, though he could not say why. 

From the stranger's words it seemed she was a girl, or perhaps a eunuch, but it would be very rude to come right out and ask. 

“What happened to him at thirteen?” Lance asked instead, putting his clothes back on, feeling sand creep into his bodily creases.

The funny stranger stared at Lance as if he was missing something. 

“He became interested in girls…After that he only got naked if he had a partner. And believe me, he had a lot. I'm surprised his dick hasn't fallen off yet, with all the abuse it's gotten.”

Lance laughed again. This little creature was funny. Brash. Unusual.

“What is your name, stranger?” Lance said, his voice changing from a conscious impression of Allura to a subconscious one of his father.

The stranger giggled.

“What is your name, stranger? I can't get my voice as deep as yours. Anyway, the name is Pidge.”

“Pidge?” Lance asked. He was definitely in Galra, if people here were named Pidge.

“Yeah, Pidge. You have a problem with that?”

Lance coughed. “Not at all. My name is...Eclan.”

The stranger stuck out a rather filthy hand that looked as if it could have belonged to a blacksmith. Curious. This Pidge person was much too small and weak to be a blacksmith, Lance thought, shaking the dirty hand briefly.

“Eclan,” Pidge said. She looked at Lance warily. “Sorry I interrupted your swim.”

“Wait!” Lance said. Pidge turned to him, for she had started to leave. “It’s just…I have business in Galra, but I do not know the way. Perhaps you could show me. If you're not overly busy, of course.”

Did commoners often help other strange commoners without promise of payment? Lance had no idea. 

Pidge gave him that suspicious stare once more, before grinning. 

“Okay, I can take you. A guy like you would get eaten alive if you wandered around here alone,” said Pidge.

Lance thought this was laughable considering the person saying it could not have weighed much more than one of the castle guard dogs.

“Your generosity is greatly appreciated,” said Lance.

Pidge sighed and said, “Listen, I don’t want to be responsible for you getting mugged or stabbed. So stay close, stay quiet, and do what I say. Got it?”

A wave of worry shot through Lance. What had he gotten himself into? He had no money and no way to defend himself. He knew nothing of Galra’s geography, which meant he had little chance of making a quick escape if the need arose. If he wanted to go to Galra, he had no better alternative than to trust this tiny stranger.

Lance nodded and gestured with his hand, “Lead the way.”  
————————————

Keith was asleep. He had drunk too much last night. He had drunk too much for more nights than he could count.

Pidge always fussed at him for this. She said he must have the liver of a man twice his age. He hated when she did this. He was an adult. At least Shiro had learned to stop nagging Keith over his drinking habits. It was a lost cause.

Keith was a born fighter. It made no difference to him whether his opponent wanted to fight with fists or swords. Though his ultimate opponent was Life, and wine was the only weapon Keith had yet discovered for keeping it at bay.

So he was asleep, snoring quietly and dreaming about a blonde soldier he had met a few weeks ago at the inn, when Pidge walked in the room.

“Don't. Touch. Anything,” was the first thing he heard Pidge say. “You've been warned.”

Curse that little menace. Must she wake at dawn every day? Keith’s dream had just gotten to the really good part.

“You live here?” 

Keith did not recognize that voice, though he instantly registered its innate charisma.

“Why? Is it not up to your standards?” Pidge said.

“No, that's not it. I think it's—I have never seen anything like this before,” said the new voice. “It’s amazing.”

Keith thought that was a fair statement. He wondered if anyone who came here would not be in awe of what they saw. 

This was where he and Pidge lived, but more importantly it was Pidge’s workshop. They had always jokingly referred to it as the Garrison, thinking of themselves as soldiers warring against all the villains in Galra.

Contraptions and trinkets big and small took up nearly every inch of space. These ranged from things like man-sized catapults to a table with a scale model of the entire city. In one corner stood a suit of armor with added hinges so that a man could quickly step inside the armor from the back. 

Pidge was, in Keith's opinion, the finest tinkerer in the kingdom—and one of his dearest friends.

Despite the intellectual marvel of Pidge's many inventions, the workshop was not exactly big, which meant there was little space for Keith which was specifically his. 

He had always loathed this aspect of his life, but being that he was an orphan and had never had very much to begin with, it was something he accepted. Like his many scars and bruises—a simple fact of Galran life.

In the quiet moments, though, when he was alone and sober, he wished for a better life for himself, and for Pidge and Shiro.

“Save your breath,” Pidge said, never one for false modesty, “and stand still. I’ll only be a minute.”

“I am standing sti—WAAAAAAH!”

There was a great ruckus. Keith opened one eye. 

Lance was hanging upside down by his ankles. Where a moment ago Keith was aroused and angry, now he was holding back a laugh.

Pidge, however, was not holding back. She was laughing wholeheartedly.

“How dare you laugh at me?! Let me down at once, you imp!”

Keith leaped up, grabbed his dagger from beside his bed, crossed the distance to where Lance was hanging and put the blade to his throat. He did all this before Pidge had a chance to respond. 

“Insult her again,” Keith said.

He held the tip of his steel very lightly to Lance's Adam’s apple.

Keith watched fear register on Lance's face, giving him the signature icy death stare for which he was known all over Galra.

Lance's mind seemed to be working rather well, for he looked at Pidge and said, “Forgive me. I lost my head for a moment. I hope I haven't broken your...hanging...people...thing.”

“Don't worry,” said Pidge, tears in her eyes from laughing. “That was the funniest thing I've seen in weeks.” 

Indignation flashed on Lance's face.

“You little—” Lance said, and Keith yanked him by the hair and pressed his blade in, drawing just the tiniest bit of blood. 

“I mean…You’re very kind. Too kind, in fact. I fear I've worn out your hospitality. If your man would let me down, I will be on my way.”

“Keith?” Pidge laughed. “He's not my man. I don't have a man. Besides, Keith is a total pillow biter.”

“A pillow biter...” Lance trailed off, but recovered quickly. “But homosexuality is a capital offense! If the King's men found out…” 

Keith raised his eyebrow and said, “Good thing I don't make a habit of fucking the King's men.”

That was not strictly speaking true, but Keith could not resist a little verbal jousting.

Pidge then said, “Anyway, Eclan. You don't have to go just because you lost your temper. Keith's temper is way worse than yours.”

Eclan, Keith thought. Unusual name.

The stranger was not from Galra. That was immediately clear. Among Keith’s many skills was the ability to discern which neighborhood someone was from—knowing where one was from often meant knowing how one would fight—but the man before him looked and smelled far too clean to be from any neighborhood with which Keith was familiar.

So he was probably nobility, disguised as a commoner because...why? 

Keith did not like this apparent pretender’s associating with Pidge. Though Keith knew Pidge could look out for herself, it did not stop the brotherly instinct he felt to protect her.

Pidge continued, “Let him down, Keith.”

“All right,” Keith said, cutting the rope.

Lance shrieked like a woman as he fell in a heap onto the unforgiving floor.

“See what I mean about his temper?” said Pidge.

“Are you insane?!” Lance sprang up. “You could have snapped my neck!”

Keith shrugged. “She told me to let you down.”

“Not exactly what I meant,” muttered Pidge.

“You deserved it,” said Keith. 

“Deserved it!?” said Lance. “I think you could really use a lesson in manners…and a haircut.”

“Yeah? You gonna teach me?” said Keith, brandishing the dagger.

Anger left Lance's face as he realized he was unarmed and outmatched. Then something else caught his attention. Keith could not decipher his expression.

“That's quite a sword you have,” said Lance, smirking now.

“It's a dagger. Not a sword,” said Keith.

“Look down, doofus,” said Pidge in an uninterested tone, not even looking at them. She was busy searching for something in another corner of the room.

Keith looked down in a panic.

Gods!

His morning erection was straining against his breeches. He cursed Pidge and this infernal stranger once again for interrupting his dream.

Keith reached for a coat and quickly covered himself.

“I'll cut your tongue out if you say anything,” he said to Lance, and then to Pidge, “Munchkin, whatever business you have with this outsider, can you please get on with it? I'd like to go back to sleep.”

He punctuated his statement by throwing his dagger over Lance's shoulder into the wooden support beam in the middle of the room.

This left Lance wide-eyed, double-taking, and sputtering incoherently.

None of this phased Pidge, who said, “You were dreaming about that blonde guy again, weren't you?”

Lance raised an eyebrow, and Keith gave him another death look, ignoring Pidge’s question.

“Gross,” said Pidge, faking a shiver. “Found it! My pepper juice. If anyone messes with us, they’ll be crying for hours. Come on, Eclan. Let's leave Keith to spoil his bedsheets in peace.”

“Thank you,” said Keith, climbing into bed. He threw his coat at Lance for good measure.

“Someone really should teach you some manners,” Lance said.

Keith made a rude hand gesture, eyes still closed.

“Come on,” said Pidge, smiling and pulling Lance out of the room.

They left, and Keith fell back to sleep. Only this time, his dreams were not pleasant.

————————————

“Gods, he's unbelievable!” said Lance, trying to keep pace with Pidge. For such a small person, she moved remarkably fast.

It was for the best, though. In the previous alley they had seen four filthy vagabonds chasing a rat, ostensibly for the purpose of consumption. The sight made Lance shudder. And in a different alley they had seen two teenagers fornicating.

“Who, Keith? He's just grumpy in the morning. He's actually really nice once you get to know him,” Pidge said.

“Ha,” scoffed Lance. “There's little chance of that happening. Honestly. I've never met someone so rude.”

“You sure are talking about him a lot,” said Pidge, turning down yet another alley abruptly.

“He held a knife to my throat!” said Lance. 

If anyone ever tried that in the castle, they would be killed by his guards.

Lance would never admit this to Pidge, but this was why he had ventured out in the first place.

His castle life was so routine, so safe. His minders—that was what he called them in his head—did not even let the sun shine in his eyes. 

While Lance had been afraid of Keith slicing him open, part of him had enjoyed being in real danger. He had even been slightly aroused at Keith’s obvious affinity for violence.

Keith had been shirtless for most of their encounter, and Lance had always been a great admirer of the male form, just as he was of the female form.

Not that anyone knew this, aside from Allura and Hunk. They were the only two people he trusted with his deepest secret.

“Keith is harmless,” said Pidge. “Unless you get on his bad side.”

Lance remembered the cold stare Keith had given him.

“What happens when you get on his bad side?” Lance said.

Pidge’s usual vivacity vanished as she said, “Let's just say no one stays on Keith's bad side for very long.”

“I see,” said Lance.

Pidge had confirmed his first impression of Keith, that he was a killer. 

Having his suspicions about Keith confirmed cooled Lance's blood. How far would Keith have gone in the workshop if Lance had insulted Pidge again? How close had Lance come to death? 

What a stupid idea. Coming to Galra. Had he lost his mind? 

Allura was always telling him leaders could not be impulsive, that they must weigh options against consequences and then make a decision, but Lance never listened. He was beginning to wish he had listened. 

Where had his impulsiveness ever got him? Following a tiny girl through the alleys of Galra with no means of escape or defense, that’s where.

He hated when Allura was right, but he hated the idea of dying at the hand of a common thief even more.

“Wait,” Lance said, and Pidge stopped. “I have changed my mind. I'll conduct my business here some other day. Thank you for your help. Meeting you, seeing your inventions, it was truly a pleasure. I hope we meet again.” 

He turned to go.

“Woah, woah, that's it?” Pidge said. “I wondered how far you would take it, but I didn't think you would weasel out this early.” 

“How far I would take what?” said Lance.

“The lie!” Pidge said. “I could tell right away you’re not one of us. You’re some nobleman’s son. A future lord. Right?” 

Apparently Lance was not as good of an actor as he thought he was. 

“I…” said Lance.

“Not to burst your bubble, your Lordship, but I’d have to be eyeless, earless, and noseless to think you were a commoner.”

Lance felt a strong pang of guilt punch him in the stomach. This innocent tinkerer had agreed to be his guide, knowing all the while Lance was taking advantage of her. 

“Just…” Lance said. “It’s…” 

“What?” said Pidge, anger mounting. “You were sitting in your manner, uncontent with your perfect life, when the thought occurred to you: Hey! Why not put on some street clothes and waltz on down to Galra. Is that it?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Lance lied. It was exactly like that.

“We live on different planets,” Pidge said. “You came here for fun. This is my home. I can’t just come and go as I please. Every day I wonder if some drunk idiot will stab me for a few coins. And you want to treat Galra like your personal playground. What gives you the right?”

Lance was quiet. He let Pidge berate him because he knew he deserved it. Also, he liked when people spoke their true feelings. As a rule, people tended to mind what they said around him. He hated when they did that, and he hated doing it himself.

He hated a lot of things about his so-called perfect life.

“I’m sorry,” said Lance. “You’re right. I thought it would be fun. I wasn’t thinking…”

“Clearly,” Pidge said.

Lance gave a sad grin. “Like you said, we’re from different planets. I don’t know anything about what it’s like to grow up in a place like this. I guess I just wanted to…”

“What?” said Pidge.

“To see how Galrans live,” said Lance.

“Why?” said Pidge.

“I don’t really know.”

“Well have you seen your fill?” Pidge said. “Or do you want to witness an actual murder? Just stick around for a few hours, and you’re bound to see someone go down. Galrans are greedy and cruel. Which makes us exactly the same as the people up in that giant castle,” she pointed to Lance’s home in the distance. “Except that Galrans have nothing to lose, because we don’t have anything in the first place.”

“You’re wrong,” said Lance.

“That's unlikely,” said Pidge, and Lance grinned.

“Galrans aren’t like that,” said Lance. “At least, not all of them.”

They were quiet then. Each contemplating their own lives, and the other’s life, the impossible distance between them, and the improbability that they would cross paths the way they had.

“Can I ask you something?” said Lance.

“Sure.”

“Why did you agree to be my guide if you knew I was lying?”

“Are you kidding me? A lord shows up dressed like a street rat, needing a guide through Galra. What could be more fun?” said Pidge.

“Fun?!” said Lance.

“Yeah. I’ve never known a lord before,” said Pidge.

“I’m not a lord,” said Lance.

“Future lord. Excuse me.”

If only she knew. Lance was not a future lord. He was the future king. He was the Crown Prince of Altea, only son of King Alfor, and twin brother of Allura, Princess of Altea.

As bad as he felt for betraying Pidge’s trust before, and as much as he wanted to be completely honest with her now, he still could not bring himself to reveal his true identity.

“So, since you're still here...” Pidge said.

“Since I'm still here…” Lance said.

“What do you say we have a little fun?” Pidge said, her eyes were shining with eagerness. 

“I say…” Lance began and then paused.

He thought of Allura and Shiro and Hunk. He thought of his servants and his tutors. How disappointed they would be in him. But then he thought of Keith, the cold-blooded killer with the rock hard body. 

For some reason, the mental image of Keith made Lance say, “Let's do it.”

“Nice!” shouted Pidge.

They clasped hands excitedly and set off down the alley, further into Galra, in search of a good time.

____________________________________

Keith was nearly out of wine. 

For some reason, he did not fancy going out tonight. He was alone in the workshop. Ordinarily he would go looking for trouble. It was Galra. He could find trouble within minutes if he desired, but he did not. 

Something felt off. He did not want to brawl, nor find a young man with a nice ass to lie with for the night. 

He got like this sometimes. Deep feelings of loneliness that even Pidge could not cure.  
It was as if he was craving something he had never had, something he could not identify. As much as he loved drinking and fighting and fucking, Keith knew something was missing from his life.

Keith knew it was not money. Aside from wine he did not have any real use for coin. It wasn’t guilt either. He certainly did not regret fighting. He loved it, and he was damn good at it. 

Was it the fucking then? He did not think so. For Keith, fucking and fighting were the two greatest pleasures in life, followed very closely by drinking.

So what was it?

He took a final large swig of wine, downing an entire glass in one go. 

He wanted more, but there wasn’t any. 

“Shit,” Keith hissed.

“What is it this time?” said a deep voice, and Keith snatched his dagger off the table on instinct.

Seeing who it was Keith relaxed, realizing he did not have to kill the intruder.

“How many fucking times must I tell you? Knock first. One of these days I’m going to gut you accidentally,” said Keith.

“As if I would let you,” said Shiro, taking the seat opposite Keith.

Shiro was dressed in a traveler's robe, not in the brilliant armor of the Knights of Voltron. He was the leader of Voltron, having long ago earned himself the nickname Black Lion, for the ferocity with which he fought, and the black armor which he wore.

Keith had beaten every opponent that had ever been foolish enough to challenge him, with one exception: the man sitting before him.

Shiro was the reason Keith was such a skilled fighter. What better way to improve your skills than by sparring with the Black Lion on a daily basis?

“Where’s Pidge?” said Shiro. 

“Dunno,” said Keith.

Shiro took an apple from the basket in the middle of the table. 

“This is rotten,” said Shiro, putting it down. 

Keith shrugged, picked up the same apple, and took a bite. 

“Tastes fine to me. Eating at the king's table every night. Maybe you've forgotten what it’s like for the rest of us.”

“You know that isn’t true,” Shiro said.

Keith knew he was being unfair. Shiro visited as often as his duties allowed, but it wasn’t the same as it used to be. When Keith was growing up, Shiro was as much a brother figure to him as a father figure, as well as being the person who made Keith realize the truth about his own sexuality.

“How are you?” said Shiro.

“I’m out of wine,” Keith grumbled.

Shiro sighed, and pulled a wineskin from inside his robe.

Keith wasted no time in taking the lid off and swallowing a large mouthful.

“How are things with you, then?” said Keith. “Castle life must be better than living in this shit hole.”

“In some ways,” said Shiro. “But in other ways, it’s actually a downgrade.”

“How’s that?” 

“I hardly ever see any action these days. I haven’t had a proper fight since the last tournament.”

“I could fight you,” Keith said, grinning. “If you wanted.”

Shiro smiled back. “We both know what would happen.”

“I don’t know,” said Keith. “It’s been so long. And like you said, you’ve fallen out of practice.”

Laughing softly Shrio said, “I didn’t say that.”

“Anyway, your life expectancy has to be a hell of a lot better in the castle than down here with us,” said Keith. “No one is crazy enough to attack the king, but me and Pidge? We could be stabbed anytime.”

“You two getting stabbed is not something I worry about,” Shiro said. “Your wine habit, on the other hand…I really do wish you’d slow down.”

“I know,” said Keith, picking up the wineskin to take another sip, but seeing the earnest look on Shiro’s face, he thought better of it. 

“I should be getting back,” said Shiro, standing.

“You should,” said Keith, his tone closer to a question than a statement.

“Take care of yourself, Keith. And Pidge. Not that she needs it,” Shiro laughed.

“You too,” said Keith, and they embraced. Keith held on extra long, wishing that Shiro wasn’t a Knight of Voltron. Wishing that Shiro didn’t have to go back to the castle. Wishing that the last few years had never happened.

When Shiro left Keith did something he had not done for a long time. He went to bed without finishing the wine.

_______________________________________

“That was…” said Lance, struggling equally to find the right word and catch his breath.

“Fun?” Pidge said, holding up the sack of coins and smiling. They were doubled over, from laughing and running.

“More than that,” huffed Lance, smiling wider than he had done in weeks.

They had been playing cards with a trio of rather stupid thugs. Pidge, through her cleverness, had designed the game so she or Lance always won. The thugs tired of this eventually and pulled their knives. A few spilled drinks, two overturned tables, and one squirt of pepper juice later, Pidge and Lance had run off with the thugs’ money.

“We HAVE to do that again sometime,” said Lance.

“Listen to you,” said Pidge. “One day in Galra and you think you’re untouchable. Don’t press your luck.”

Lace was too high on the thrill of the night to heed Pidge’s cautionary words.

“Here’s your cut,” said Pidge, attempting to hand Lance half the contents of the coin sack. 

“Keep it,” said Lance, waving her off.

“I insist, my lord,” Pidge said, grin turned to gritted teeth.

“Oh, you insist, do you?” snapped Lance. “Are you really in a position to be giving away coin?”

“I’m not giving it away. You earned it,” said Pidge. “Besides, I do just fine on my own.”

“I never said you didn’t. And do you really call running after you earning it? You did all the work, you should keep the coin. Consider it payment for today’s entertainment.”

Pidge looked unsure.

“Please, Pidge,” said Lance. “I’m not going to take it, and I really don’t want to see you leave it on the street, which I know you’re considering right now. Think of the things you could buy with it. The things you could invent.”

That did it. Pidge’s fist closed tightly around the sack, and she put it inside her pouch.

“Thank you,” said Pidge. 

“Don’t thank me. This was the most fun I’ve had in months. Maybe years.”

“In that case,” said Pidge, “one sack of coins might not be enough.”

They laughed together.

“I’m just glad you took it. I was going to start begging next, and I hate begging. Nasty practice. Very unlord-like.”

Pidge said, “Damn! I wish I’d seen that. The look on Keith’s face would have been priceless when I told him. A lord begging me. Now that's what I call a reversal of roles.

They laughed again.

“Perhaps next time,” said Lance.

“Next time?” said Pidge. “I thought we agreed you shouldn’t press your luck?”

“With someone as scary as you protecting me, who’s gonna threaten me?” said Lance.

“Don’t joke,” said Pidge, suddenly serious. “Galra is big and mean. I can’t protect you from everyone. You could easily get killed, and I don’t really fancy the idea of my head on a stake when your lordly father finds out it was me you were coming to see.”

If only she knew, thought Lance for the twentieth time that day. 

“Fine. Then I’ll never see you again,” Lance said, and began to walk away. 

Lance had been naively imagining that this might become a semi-regular occurrence. That he could sneak out of the castle and spend the day with Pidge, living on the edge. He thought he might have made a new friend for the first time in years. Apparently Pidge did not feel the same way. 

“Eclan, wait,” said Pidge.

“What?” said Lance.

“Don’t you need help finding your way back?” said Pidge.

Lance’s pride wanted to say no, but he knew he had absolutely no clue how to get back to the beach.

“I suppose so,” said Lance.

“Is it too late to ask you to beg?” said Pidge.

Lance grinned, despite Pidge’s boldness. He really liked this tiny genius.

“I’m afraid it is,” said Lance.

“I thought so,” said Pidge, sounding disappointed. “Perhaps next time.”

Lance said, “I know I have no right to ask this, but I’ll ask anyway. Can you please keep the lord thing a secret? The fewer people that know about me, the better.”

“Awww, but Keith would be so jealous!” said Pidge.

“Then we’ll just have to find another way to make him jealous, won’t we?” Lance said, and Pidge grinned so widely Lance feared it was hurting her face.

“That we shall, Lord-o. That we shall,” she said.


	2. Thinking of Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter. Some fresh (and familiar) faces.

Life in the castle was unnaturally boring for Lance over the next fortnight.

Lance was unable to pay attention during lessons. He often looked up to see his tutor staring at him, waiting for a response to a question Lance did not even know had been asked. 

Coran had chastised him for his sudden lapse of concentration. When pressed for a reason, Lance told Coran he did not know why but he simply found it impossible to focus recently. Coran worried Lance was ill, but Lance assured him that he was not. Eventually Coran gave it up, forming his own theory about Lance's increased proclivity for daydreaming.

The only person he trusted with the full story was Hunk. Well, almost the full story. For reasons he could not articulate to himself, Lance had left Keith out of the tale. 

At first, Hunk had been understandably concerned. Once Lance got to the real action, though, Hunk seemed nearly as excited as Lance had been that day in Galra.

“You actually kicked a Galran in the balls?” Hunk said, grabbing Lance by the shoulders and shaking him.

“Woah,” Lance said, “Careful. You'll mess up my hair. Yes I did. But he was an easy target. Pidge had practically blinded them all with her pepper juice at this point.” 

“Amazing,” said Hunk. “This Pidge person. She sounds very…resourceful.”

“Oh, she is,” said Lance. “You would love her. Her inventions. You would have been over the moon in that workshop.”

“Hmm,” Hunk said. “Was there anything culinary related?” 

Lance frowned. He had been much too astonished by Pidge’s workshop as a whole to identify most of the individual inventions.

“Might have been,” said Lance. “You have to see it for yourself.”

Now Hunk frowned.

“But how could I? It’s in Galra, Lance. You know? Gaaaaalra? As in the most dangerous neighborhood in the city?”

Lance rolled his eyes and said, “You worry too much.”

“Lance, you can’t go back there! Allura would kill you. Hell, she might kill me if she found out I knew about this and didn’t tell her!”

That got Lance’s attention.

“You can’t tell Allura!”

“Tell me what?” said an angelic voice from the doorway. 

A dark-skinned white-haired woman walked into the room with the innocent look of a doe on her face. Everyone in Lance’s family had white hair besides Lance. He had brown hair, and his skin was a few shades lighter than the beautiful brown of the rest of the family.

Lance and Hunk exchanged a panicked look.

“Tell you…What I’m planning to give you for our birthday,” said Lance. 

“Lance,” she said. 

He loved the way she could put so much emotion into his name. That one word was playful, joyful, loving. His sister’s voice could make Lance feel shame or pride like no one else’s voice could do. He loved Allura, but he often felt like he was a disappointment to her.

“What?” Lance said. “Did you honestly think I wasn’t going to get you anything? You know me better than that.”

“I daresay I do,” she smiled softly. “Hunk, it is wonderful to see you. I feel like it’s been ages since we last met.”

Lance smiled. Even after all these years, Allura could still make Hunk blush. 

“Uh, it’s nice to see you too, Princess,” Hunk cleared his throat. “I have to go...check on the kitchens. And Lance, your secret’s safe with me.” 

Hunk gave Lance a look as if to say, So long as you don’t go back to Galra. Then he left the room.

“That was strange,” said Allura. “Why did he leave so quickly?”

Lance turned to pour his sister a glass of juice.

“You make him nervous,” said Lance.

“Do I?” said Allura, genuinely unaware of the stunning effect she had on people.

Lance handed Allura the cup.

“Yes,” said Lance.

“Thank you,” said Allura.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected visit?” said Lance, sitting in a chair.

“You do not have to do that,” said Allura, sitting across from Lance.

“Do what?” said Lance.

“Speak to me so formally,” said Allura. “It does not matter to me how you speak. In fact I quite like the way you usually speak. It is, what is the word, cool.”

Lance snorted, before saying seriously, “Sorry. It’s just a habit. You remind me too much of Father.”

Allura ignored this. 

“Lance, I know something has been bothering you lately. Won’t you tell me what it is?”

“There’s nothing to tell. I’ve just been having a hard time focusing lately.” 

“Coran tells me there’s been a marked drop in the quality of your academic performance for nearly a fortnight. Lance, please be honest with me.”

Part of him wanted to tell his sister the truth, but the larger part of him never wanted to see the disappointment on her face that would come with the truth.

He would have to lie.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Lance said. There was that innocent doe-eyed look again. “I met someone.”

“You met someone?” said Allura.

“I met someone,” Lance repeated. “A fruit vendor.”

“There must be something I am missing. I do not see what your meeting a fruit vendor has to do with your inability to focus during lessons,” said Allura.

“Gods, Allura. I’m telling you I met a man.” 

“Oh,” she said. “I see. And you were quite taken with this...man.”

“That’s one way to put it,” said Lance.

“Did you and he…?” said Allura.

Lance blushed and hid his head in his hands. “Gods, no! Don’t ask me questions like that.”

Allura cleared her throat, “I apologize. I am simply trying to understand.”

“No, we didn’t do that. But I spent the rest of the day with him, and now I can’t stop thinking about him, and I don’t know what to do.”

He felt guilty when he saw the concerned look on his sister’s face.

“Perhaps it would help to talk about this man. Would you like to tell me about him?” said Allura.

“Um,” Lance said, knowing that to continue would mean deepening the lie. “The first thing I noticed was his hair. He had this stupid hair style that was actually kind of cute.”

With a wave of embarrassment Lance realized he had been describing Keith.

“Why are you smiling?” said Lance.

“It’s nothing,” said Allura. “So do you plan to see him again?”

“I,” said Lance. “It's more complicated than that.”

“Is there a law against princes associating with fruit vendors? It must be fairly new since I've not heard of it. A rather strange law, though, is it not?” said Allura.

Lance forced a smile. 

“Eventually we would have to stop. Better to end it now before anything really starts. Less messy this way.”

“Oh, Lance,” said Allura. She stood up and walked over to hug Lance from behind. “Eventually we will change that law. I promise you.”

Lance knew which law she meant, and he hoped she was right. He brought his hand to her arms by way of returning the hug.

“Yeah, well, until we do there is no real use talking about it, is there?”

“Perhaps not,” Allura said. “But if you find you do need to talk about these things, you must know I am always willing to listen.” 

“I know,” said Lance. “Thank you, Princess.”

“You’re welcome,” she paused. “Prince,” she giggled.

His sister was too pure for the life she had been born into, Lance thought as he grinned at her. The business of kings and queens was messy, and his sister was the cleanest person he knew, in all senses of the word.

Guilt stabbed Lance after Allura left, along with another feeling he could not name. It was as if something in his stomach wanted to burst through him and fly right out the window. 

He cancelled his lessons that day, and thought of Keith often.

________________________________________

Keith was whittling a piece of wood with his knife while he watched Pidge putter around the workshop.

Watching Pidge create was one of Keith’s favorite pastimes, and he didn’t think she minded very much that he was watching. Indeed, she was so engrossed in what she was doing Keith was unsure if she even knew he was there.

He waited for what he thought was a lull in her creative process and then said, “Munchkin,” to get her attention.

She hummed.

“Whatever happened to that outsider you brought here? The hanging one.” Keith went on.

Eclan. Keith remembered his name, but he did not want Pidge to know that. 

Pidge froze like a startled animal before she composed herself and said, “You mean Eclan? I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him since that day. Why do you ask?”

“Boredom. He was quite a fun plaything, wasn’t he, hanging there like that? What did you two do anyway?”

He recognized the look on Pidge’s face. That was her creative face. It was the same face she wore when she was inventing. The same face she had been wearing before he started talking to her. She was formulating a lie.

“We went to Ezor’s,” said Pidge.

Going to Ezor’s meant going to Ezor’s shop. She was connected well enough to the well-connected in Galra to be able to get most anything for anybody. It made sense that if Eclan needed something in Galra, he was going through Ezor to get it.

All reason flew out of Keith’s head, pushed out and replaced by virulent hatred.

“Why the fuck would you go there?”

Ezor was on Keith’s list of Most Hated People because, among many other offenses, she had once kidnapped Pidge when they were younger.

Pidge had forgiven Ezor, thinking it a good business decision. Keith had not.

Part of Keith’s hatred of Ezor came from the fact that she was untouchable. Keith would have loved to kill her, but he knew half of Galra would be after him if he did. And confident in his fighting abilities though he was, Keith was considerably less confident in his ability to beat hundreds of thugs at once. So he left Ezor alone. Grudgingly.

“Eclan needed something from her,” said Pidge, interrupting Keith’s mental tirade. “He didn’t say what. I waited outside. For obvious reasons.”

Perhaps this Eclan was more dangerous than Keith initially thought. Keith thought Eclan was a nobleman's son. Apparently he was wrong. Unless Ezor was even better connected than Keith thought, which was possible.

This was the genius of Pidge. If she was lying, it was a perfect lie. Keith knew Pidge would not visit Ezor’s without a very good reason.

“Did he pay you? Eclan? Is that how you got that pork?” said Keith, remembering the extravagant meal Pidge had made for them the day after Eclan visited the workshop.

“That boy is LOADED,” Pidge said. She had just put on her magnifiers, as she called them—glass lenses of her own making that improved her eyesight—which Keith thought made her look rather like a wide-eyed owl. “He must be a foreign spy or something.”

That theory was absurd. No spy worth his weight would dare dress and act as oblivious as Eclan had.

“Or maybe he’s a noble,” said Keith.

Pidge laughed derisively and said, “What would a noble be doing in Galra?”

Keith shrugged.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Pidge went over to her bed. She bent down and came up with the sack of coins Lance had let her keep. “We have enough coin to last us months! Happy birthday!” 

She threw the sack at Keith. It missed his groin by inches.

“My birthday is in October,” said Keith. “You know that.”

“October came early this year, Keefy.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Pidgeon.”

“Do you want free wine or not?” said Pidge.

“I always want free wine,” said Keith.

“Then October came early,” said Pidge. 

“But—” he started, before seeing the magnified look of stubbornness on her face.

“But?” Pidge said.

“Nothing,” said Keith. He raised the sack, jingling the coins within and said, “Here’s to Eclan, the richest fool we’ve ever known.”

“And we’ve known a lot,” said Pidge.

They laughed together. 

Pidge went back to tinkering, and Keith went back to whittling, smiles on their faces courtesy of Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there will be another Klance meeting next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this is going, but I hope you liked how it started.


End file.
